


Comic Books and TV Shows

by laCommunarde



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Multiverse, universe jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 02:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laCommunarde/pseuds/laCommunarde
Summary: Michael Scofield - currently known only by the name Kaniel Outis - was sitting in solitary in Ogygia Prison in Yemen, missing Linc and Sara and little Mike, when suddenly he is standing in a city in another universe, the universe with the Waverider and Mick Rory, who is still missing Leonard Snart.





	Comic Books and TV Shows

**Author's Note:**

> Set after season 4 of Prison Break, and season 3 of Legends of Tomorrow.

There is pain and he can’t focus on anything at first, sense bombarded by stimuli all at once. It is too much and he falls drunken on it all to one side and takes a few deep breaths to try to calm it.

It’s been a while since he experienced “too much” in this way. The world has so long been washed out and dulled by sand and bland prisons in developing countries that this much brightness to everything is making him long for his solitary prison cell – three walls very close to him, a door, tan, so much tan. 

And then he sees Him, his brother, his Linc. “Brother,” he murmurs. There is a look of surprise on Linc’s face and god if he has hallucinated this a million times, Linc running over to him like that, this reunion – if only his brain would stop and realize the facts of where he is – but goddamn has it been a while since it’s felt so real. He reaches out and grasps Linc’s very real feeling ear, side of face, neck. “Brother,” he says. That’s as far as he gets through, as he falls into Linc’s arms, too many senses – vividness, brightness, sound, smells - the smell of Linc but intermingled with a strong scent of smoke and metal (maybe ironworking, he could see Linc being good at that) and perception of other people’s senses, and his own thoughts, running off in a thousand different directions at once with the stimuli, stimuli – getting the better of him, and he can almost swear he feels his nose start gushing again with hot blood. But that’s a nightmare from the past, not from now.

Now he’s safe in Linc’s arms.

\--

He reawakens in a bed with a comforter rather than a cot with a sheet at best. The area around him, without even looking, is minimalist and metal and is humming with a motor somewhere nearby, not the motor of an air conditioner but larger and much more powerful. Something with either a computer, where the servers would have to air off like that, or a self-powered facility of some type of other. He hasn’t felt like he feels now in a while, so long it takes him a long time to realize that feeling is having had enough sleep. Indolent, his mind supplies the word in the voice of his fifteen-year-old self in a spelling bee. He hushes it and touches his face and head, making sure he isn’t wounded anywhere. Only once that is complete does he sit up. 

Bed along one wall, in a little alcove too. Storage cubbies that look like where sailors store things while underway. Metal walls, but soft lit, as though whoever designed this space didn’t want them to appear too hostile. Clothes of some nature or other folded on a plain chair he would bet folded up and out of the way when not use. Shoes – his own - on the floor underneath.

He grabs for them, only then looking down at what he’s wearing. Not his shirt. Not his pants. PJs of the dorm pant and t-shirt – long sleeved thank God – variety, but he hasn’t worn PJs for six years at this point, not on missions, certainly not with Poseidon. A horrifying thought surfaces, and he checks his undies, which are still, fortunately, his. They must smell like crap, given the amount of time he’s been wearing them – three years and two months at this point. Ahh, and there it is – his mind going back into the thousand expectations of society that come up now only whenever he is between missions. The thousand little embarassments he feels whenever his senses tell him how time is marching on.

 

He pulls on the pants, tighter then he entirely likes, and the shirt seems to be a black turtleneck, longer than his t-shirts, probably cost more than his t-shirts too. Something like this would be unbearable in the desert. He feels the air and notes that this isn’t the deserts: the humidity is too much (The humidity is perfect); the temperature is pleasant, rather than unbearable. He decides to go with the t-shirt instead of the turtleneck. Better color - black makes him feel too much like Company or like he's a black ops spook working for a sub-branch of the CIA, take your pick. Even if he's been both - unwillingly, very unwillingly - he will only look like either over his dead body. Call it his little way of protesting against someone who has taken everything from him and dangled it above death in order to get him to work. 

He left on the t-shirt.

The shoes were his shoes, for which he was grateful. The less said about his toes needing additional support - just the two he'd lost so long ago when he'd first started this whole prison break idea, when he'd naively thought himself on top of the world, smart and with LLI but otherwise normal, the first of too many sacrifices to count - the better.   
Standing proved perhaps not the best idea, but he managed to right himself after catching hold of the wall (walls, smooth metal, cool but not cold) for a few minutes. 

He decided to venture out of the room to explore where exactly he was, when he last memories before hallucination took him were of the inside of his prison cell back in Ogygia, in fucking Yemen. The door slid open as he approached, which brought him back to his childhood watching Star Trek and Captain Kirk and Spock do their thing with Linc after school. His mind even supplied the side effect, bringing a smile to his face. The hallway was dimly lit, bare metal - the same cool but not cold metal as made up the walls in the room he was in. The floor and ceiling looked like something out of Aliens - the LV-426 colony. For a moment his heart sped up thinking there were xenomorphs or some other deadly alien species come to eat his face off aboard. At the same time, his more rational mind wondered if he had finally lost it. Hallucinations were supposed to be one of the effects of long term isolation after all. Maybe his brain had finally decided that he should be anywhere but the shithole prison in Sana'a. And, as opposed to either part of his brain, the current part of his brain informed him that he could hear human noise from up the hall to the left - talking and banging around and whatnot - so that direction he crept, long since having integrated the way to walk silently into his step, shoes on or not. 

He rounded the bend to find himself in a far more brightly lit gathering room, with blue walls, a table in the middle with several people sitting around it, and counters around that: a kitchen rec room type-area. A blonde woman who carried herself like she was constantly ready to fight, a black-haired man taller than he was who looked like he was never ready to fight, another woman whose olive skin and dark hair made him gravitate towards her as he had with the few women who would occasionally come through Ogygia's gates to keep them safe and because they provided him some sense of familiarity. And Linc. 

He felt his innards both try to run away and reach out in longing towards Linc. "Linc, how did you...?" he whispered. His throat was dry, his voice crackly. But Linc heard him, or at least flashed his eyes up to his face and gave his own expression of both longing and tears.

"Oh my god! It's Leonard!" said the dark-haired man. Michael would have estimated his hair was doing the gelled hair thing by itself, no gel needed, and hoped offhand that even at the top of his naïveté, he'd never bounced around half so optimistically. It was refreshing though, in small doses, and it had been a long time since he'd seen anyone be quite so that.

"Mick..." said the blonde woman, "What have you done?"

Meanwhile Linc was getting up - he waved the question off with a grunt; Michael had to smile at that, same old Linc - some things never changed, and that made some small part of him he thought he'd killed years ago smile with glee. And then Linc was coming over and looking at him as though hesitating to touch him, which of all the ridiculous... Michael leaned forward and threw his arms around him, embracing him as he hadn't gotten a change to do in nearly six years.

"I'm sorry, Linc. I'm so sorry," he said., pulling back from the hug and leaving his hand on the side of his brother's face and neck. 

Linc stiffened. "It's Mick here."

Michael frowned and studied his brother’s face. "As in, Jagger?" 

Both the blonde woman, the dark-haired man and the Middle Eastern woman laughed. 

"Mick" looked pained. "Yeah." It occurred to Michael that if Linc was keeping up a fake name, there must be a reason for it, a reason he might have just blown by calling him Linc, potentially leading to prying questions, background searches. Even his presence here might do that. People might remember the two brothers on the Fox River Eight. 

"You don't talk like him," Sara said. "Are you a shape shifter? Or from another universe? Or past Leonard?"

Michael turned to her. "Who is it I'm supposed to be?"

"Don't be an idiot, Blondie. He's from another universe," Mick snapped at her.

"Ahh, like Leo," the dark-haired man suggested. Recording that name for future use, along with the earlier name that the blonde woman used - Leonard. But why? 

"You didn't like Leo much, Mick." 

"Mick" grunted in response. "Yeah well, I know better than with Fake-Snart."

His brain caught up with what "Mick" had said. "From another universe?" He stared at the three of them.

"This is Snart?" the Middle Eastern woman said.

"Yeah," "Mick" said.

That... meant this was not his Linc, not his universe. But how? For one thing, that certainly explained why they were calling Linc by a different name - though, he had to admit, not in any way he was expecting. "Mick," he gestured at not-Linc.

Mick nodded. 

"And in this universe, I'm called Leonard Snart here?" 

Blondie - as Mick had called her - nodded. "Yep, that's about right." 

"How did I move from one universe to another?"

"Don't know. I found you wandering around, looking like you couldn't get your bearings. Knew something was wrong." 

Michael smiled. "Something was. I jumped universes." He began wondering how it was possible for him to jump universe. What would it require to do it technologically? Could someone with their brain wired just right manage it with nothing more than their mind? At the same time, his mind began following another line of thought as to whether multiple universe, multiple versions of him and of Linc meant that there were an infinite number of options for every turning point in their lives, in everyone's lives. - That must make for an infinite number of universes. To his horror, his brain started cheerfully trying to calculate how many possibilities that would make, as though he was a teenager again with the questions going faster than his pre-frontal cortex ability to control them. He tried shoving it to the side to continue having the conversation that was in the here and now.  
"Leaving aside the question of how the multiple universes work -" thank you, brain, though that got an interesting rock forward on the toes out of the dark-haired man - Haircut, Mick (thank god for similar vowel sounds and similar syllable counts) had called him: something to remember for later when he wanted to find out more or just geek out over how cool the theory of the multiverse was, "I will ask you later if you have found out anything related to whether there are infinite or finite universes, but that is unimportant now," - his brain, of course, continued on with the line of thought, but he wasn't about to tell the inner working of his mind to a room strangers. "So leaving that aside, how did I jump universes? Was there something that pulled me, possibly something this ship did?"

Blondie glanced at Haircut, who shook his head. Ah, so Haircut must be, what, the scientist, the engineer? "Nothing I did. I wasn't even in the lab or working on anything."

Blondie turned ceiling-ward. "Gideon?"

Michael was about to ask who Gideon was when an electronic voice filled the room. "According to my reports, the breach occurred from the other world, Ms. Lance."  
Michael looked up in delight. "An AI? Is she programmed to your voice? If I was to say 'Gideon,' and ask a question, would she respond to me? Where do her answers come from?" Michael slammed his mouth shut before any more questions could get out. It had been quite a while since his mind had asked questions like that, so long he no longer felt it as necessary to slow them done and filter them as anything but an unconscious process. And, even with his mouth closed, the questions continued. How does she function? Is she a machine learning program or a static database just given voice? 

That line of questioning, combined with the other questions that his mind was still going on about, and his desire to know everything about a topic, plus the new people and noticing everything about them without being able to find answers to the basics, and that damn hum of the motor or central air or whatever it was shorted out his brain.

He felt his weight in free fall as his legs gave out from under him and he sank to the floor, senses and thought alike shutting down.

\--

He came to in what felt like a dentist's chair with a dim lit overhead. "Where...?" he started. 

"Easy, Snart. You're in this hunk of metal's med lab. Futuristic. Good stuff. You just passed out, and everyone decided it'd be best to bring you here."

He gazed over at Mick. Mick had a deeper voice than Linc did, as far as he could tell from his memories - god, how many years had it been since he'd last seen Linc? So many his soul ached. His chin also jutted out a little more, and he carried his weight differently, back balanced a little more, as though expecting to carry something or have something lunge at him. Not someone ready to run then, more of the team’s tank. 

"Did your Snart pass out a lot then?"

"Nah. He'd never do it in front of the others anyway." He gave a nod back in the direction that was evidently the kitchen/dining room he had entered earlier. "But apparently it sometimes happens when jumping universes." Mick shrugged and looked aside. Silence filled the room - complete silence other than the whir of the motor - not a thing Michael was good at handling anymore. In Ogygia, there was always someone making noise, talking or yelling or coughing, or getting themselves off, but nothing like the constant run of a motor. Other than the motor though, there was no talking to be heard other than what Mick was saying. It was eerie how quiet it was What Linc had said when he had just busted them out of Fox River was true - it was so silent out here. He had to smile at that.

"You ever been in prison?"

Mick laughed. "Good. You're already a step closer than fake-Snart."

"Fake Snart? You mentioned him earlier." 

"Leo. From another universe we went to once. Guy's a shrink and a do-gooder."

Michael leaned his head back against the chair. "Well, I don't qualify as that anymore. Do-gooder, not a shrink. I went the engineering route."

Mick screwed up his face at that. "Engineering? You went to college."

Michael smiled. "Loyola. Does that exist here?"

Mick jutted out his lower lip. If Michael had to guess, he would say that he had just disappointed Mick. 

"Long way from that to where I am now. Besides, I wouldn't have been able to put myself through it without my universe's version of you." 

Mick grunted. "What about Lisa?"

"Rix?" Michael asked.

"What?" Mick asked back.

Michael stared. Maybe as neither he nor Linc had the same names neither did she. "Lisa Rix, mother of your son?"

Mick ogled and looked to be choking on air for a second. "I have a son in your world?"

"Ahh."

"Who decided that was a good idea?" 

Michael had to shrug in response, as it had been many years ago, shortly after their mother had left them all alone in the world, and as he was dealing with his own issues at the time, though he was reasonably sure there wasn't a whole lot of decision making going on at the time. 

There was a pause before Mick, with an increasing frown and worry on his face, asked, "Lisa Rix isn't like your little sister, right?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't have a little sister. Just you and me."

Mick smiled at that. Michael smiled back. "It's been a while, boss," Mick told him.

"Boss?"

"I pick nicknames for people. That's from when Snart and I were on jobs together. He ran them, made sure we thought of everything. Counting the seconds. Dotting his i's, crossing his t's, that kind of thing."

Michael looked up at that and smiled at Mick. It was either smile or cry with how his heart felt after hearing that. "It's been a while for me as well."

Mick licked his lips and met Michael's eyes, looking between them and then away. "Let's go tell others you're alright. Gideon?"

"I have checked your vitals. You're safe to go."

Mick gestured at Michael's arm. Michael nodded, taking Mick's hand with both of his and pulling himself up on it. Mick did a double-take which Michael noted as he did, but quickly adjusted his weight to help Michael up.

"Come on, boss." Mick clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go reintroduce you to everyone."

\--

After Michael was seated at the table with everyone else staring at him in fascination, Mick explained, "The bouncey one with the haircut is named Raymond."

Raymond bobbed a nod, but didn't reach out his hand, so Michael didn’t either, instead nodding, "Hello." 

Mick nodded to the Middle Eastern woman Michael felt warm towards next. "This is Zari. She's badass." 

"Hello," she greeted Michael. He nodded and smiled at her. 

"And the Captain, or Blondie, is named Sara."

Michael's head spun so much he had to grip hold of the table until his knuckles turned white. "Sara," he repeated, meeting her eyes. "Any last name?" He wondering if he would recognize it, or if like Mick’s name it had changed between universes.

She met his eyes and sucked in air a little too quickly. However, then she caught herself and gave a small snort to show she was not impressed. "Sorry, Leonard, already taken." 

"With me in this world?" Michael ventured. It would touch some romantic part of his soul if in every universe he and Sara were together. 

"No," she said, and there was a moment of pain there – so something had happened there- but that was a thing for future investigation. "I'm with a woman named Ava."

Michael smiled and nodded. "I hope she likes you a lot and regularly lets you know it."

This Sara seemed amused. “I take it we’re together in your universe.”

Michael looked at the floor, lest he give anything away. “That’s a complicated question. Suffice to say not at present.”

She cleared her throat and glanced at Mick, then back at Michael. "So what do you want to be called?"

Michael opened his mouth to say his name, but it caught in the back of his throat. If anyone called him it before he got to Linc and Sara again, the reaction wouldn't be pretty, he guessed. "Kaniel Outis," he said instead, giving his prison alias.

"Kaniel. Interesting name," Sara said. 

Michael met her eyes, noting that he didn't drown in her eyes the way he had his Sara, and that she didn't look like his Sara, but was formidable and on constant guard all the time like he was. Interesting. "Yes," he replied aloud, deliberately mysterious. Sara lowered her chin a little, and gave him a look. He knew that look. It was the look of one's soul understanding another's about what is necessary. 

"So," Raymond interrupted. "What's going on in your world? Did you come because you need us to help with something?"

Michael turned to Mick. "Umm?"

"Last other universe we met, we had to help save them from Nazis."

Michael took in that information. "Ahh."

"Fake-Snart was from there."

And that explained the other part. "No, there is no state at present where Nazis are in charge in my world. As to the offer of help - a few years ago, I would have said yes, we need help defeating a conspiracy occurring on my world, but it was defeated and handed over to a court of law actually able to try the bastards." It occurred to him he would need to cut the curse words out of his speech if he was ever successful against Poseidon and if he was ever going to go home. It also occurred to him that he could ask their help, but his mind cut the thought off there. No need to risk anybody's life unnecessarily, particularly when they didn't already have any skin in the game. 

Mick gave a grunt and seemed to look around for something. Whatever it was, he didn't find it and determined it wasn't worth getting up over. Michael noted it to ask about later. "There's always something with government dicks. Whether it's the shitshow that is Iron Heights -."

"Iron Heights?" Michael interrupted to ask.

Mick grunted. "Prison in Central City."

Michael could not recall a city being called Central City. "State penitentiary?" he ventured.

Mick nodded. "You been in a state lock up?"

Michael couldn't stop a laugh. Sara and Zari looked amused, Sara raising her eyebrow in a manner that could only be call sardonic, Zari pressing her lips together. Raymond looked disappointed, and Michael could feel his own anger directed at that. It took him another moment to realize that the anger was also directed at himself before things had gone down the path they had, back with Linc showing up on his doorstep and himself being holier than thou disappointed in Linc. He glanced at Mick to see whether he had noticed, but Mick was grinning at him and ignoring Raymond, and moving his eyebrows up and down in a way that got Michael to grin back. "I broke myself and my universe's you out... And then I had to break out of a different prison. It was complicated."

Sara rolled her eyes. "What else is new?"

Michael looked between Mick and her "I take it Leonard did the same."

Mick nodded. "He and I was in the can more times than I can count. Every time, in the car ride over, he would already be planning how to get out." So they were arrested multiple times together, but yes, that did sound like something he would do if he and Linc had been arrested multiple times, as would have happened if Linc hadn't been so determined he go to school, which he could see, given the existence of a little sister. 

"You mentioned a little sister, Lisa. Where is she?"

"We left her home in Central..." Mick glanced at Michael's face then at a non-existent spot on the floor and mumbled, "She and I haven't exactly spoken in a while, since I told her."  
There was shame there, and pain bad enough that Sara bit her lip and Raymond's eyes went sad, eyebrows tilting down of the outside. Zari bumped Mick's arm with hers, in sympathy. Why? Michael glanced around, trying to puzzle out. Ahh. They thought Leonard was dead. Which, judging by the fact that Leonard was an alternate universe's him, he'd probably concocted a get away plan and had had to fake his own death for reasons. He wondered whether he should tell them that Leonard was probably alive, but had seen no way to avoid using himself as a pawn to save the others. "No doubt she was upset when you told her, given how close our family is."

Raymond and Zari nearly choked at that. Sara reached over to pat Zari on the back, but she herself had a smile on her face. He turned to Mick for an answer as to why, but Mick had an all but unreadable expression on his face. One thing was clear was that he was in grimacing in pain... ahh, he had caused pain by reminding Mick how close they were. "I'm sorry. I brought up something that clearly still causes you pain."

Mick grunted. "Nah. Don't mention it."

Michael bowed his head. 

Sara came over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Kaniel. It's okay. Everyone who come aboard the Waverider puts their foot in it sooner or later. Think of it as a right of passage."  
Michael glanced down at her hand and then smiled at her. He could see that deadly center holding absolutely still at her center. However many layers she put on between it and the surface, it still knew how to wake up in the blink of an eye and strike with deadly efficiency. She had been trained in it. Contrary to what movies believed, one had to work hard at being efficient at doing whatever it was she did with it and that usually worked best with a trainer or a series of tests. He wondered if by this point, he looked like that too to someone with his powers of observation. 

"Come on. Deep thought's for after this mission." She turned back to the table.

"Mission?" Michael repeated. 

"Yes. The Waverider-" she smacked the table "and her crew are a team that travels through time and fixes screw ups. Every once in a while, it's even not our screw up."

Michael laughed. Mick leaned over to him to say, "What Blondie means is that it usually is kind of our fault, or at least we get blamed for it."

Michael slowly turned to Mick, smile freezing on his face. "She... wasn't joking about the time travel thing, was she?"

Mick did the eyebrow raising smirk again that Michael found he was growing fond of. 

"Oh."


End file.
